


more than just a neon weekend

by bellawritess



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, BORDERLINE but it's there, Emotional Turmoil, Introspection, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Not Quite Unrequited Love, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Sexual Tension, Smoking, Who am I, bad coping skills i guess, based on woke up in japan, god this fic just contains everything i hate in fics huh, im sorry i just have to preface this with FANCY ME WRITING M RATED FIC, of sorts, ok lets get into the real tags now shall we, sorry can you BELIEVE i wrote a fic with MILD SEXUAL CONTENT, youngblood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26235151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: Calum shifts into a sitting position. The sheets fall further down his body and Luke looks down at his hands so he won’t stare. He’s still mostly naked, too, and he can feel Calum watching him, and his cheeks burn. Calum needs to leave. Calum needs to take his clothes and go and they need to never tell anyone about this and never talk about it again, because this could destroy the band if it turns into — ifanything—“Okay,” Calum says, cutting through Luke’s catastrophizing. “That’s okay.”Luke snaps his eyes up. “What? It’s not okay.”
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Calum Hood
Comments: 41
Kudos: 86





	more than just a neon weekend

**Author's Note:**

> (takes deep breath) WHEW. OKAY.
> 
> fair fuckin warning that this fic is pretty far out of my normal wheelhouse. i would like to extend my most profuse thanks firstly to [cam](https://haikucal.tumblr.com/), who seriously let me ramble about this fic FOREVER, and also gave me advice on how to approach it, and also reassured me that i could write whatever i wanted, and also is just a wonderful lovely person. and SECONDLY to [helen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin) (surprise surprise), whose comments on the doc genuinely..........TRULY are my lifeblood i must say there is nothing quite like watching helen react to ur writing i have truly never been more respected <3 cheers love
> 
> one thing about the timeline in case anyone is thinking about harassing me for it yes i made up my OWN fuckin timeline it's like the tour dates of SLFL but happening during youngblood also pretending that they never wrote WUIJ okay are we all on the same page here ??? great moving on
> 
> quick tw: fair bit of drinking in this fic, and also smoking, and a brief panic attack. please approach with caution!! if you need more information my tumblr is in the end notes
> 
> last thing before i go and source the title and whatever: i feel like everyone should read this fic [like we always will](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12146721/chapters/27560451) which was tragically orphaned BUT fucking permanently changed the way i view cake as a pairing and also calum and luke as people so anyway read it if u want YES it's free promo for no reason this is the person i am
> 
> right then title (and basic plot??) is from woke up in japan and is the whole reason i even WROTE the fic cos i was truly obsessed with that imagery and now 8k later here we are now read before i change my mind and delete this x
> 
> ETA: this fic now comes with a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Ot30hzQJ5EsKTvkByabd5?si=hLGlHpW0SnyP9hld1AmsTA)!! curated by me and the wonderful [iba](http://archiveofourown.org/users/formidablehedgehog) and she has listened to it while reading and can vouch for it. i have never actually tried doing that so do whatever you want, but if you want a playlist, it's there and it's kinda sick

There are neon strip lights cutting a line around the perimeter of this hotel room, and that’s what Luke sees first when he opens his eyes. It’s bright, too bright; he blinks his eyes against it, resisting the urge to close them again, because there’s more to know. Like what time it is. And who the other body is in the bed.

It should be easier to check the time, but Luke has a sick, churning feeling in his gut, something that seems like a memory but he prays is a dream, until the other person moves, rolls over, and Luke looks at Calum and realizes he’s fucked up.

“Oh,” Calum says, in a scratchy voice, rough from restless sleep. “We, uh.”

Calum’s morning voice is dead sexy, as any sane person could attest to; Luke wishes he were calm enough to appreciate it, but panic is racing through his veins. This will almost certainly ruin everything. How could they — _why_ would they — 

“Yeah,” Luke says, using all of his existing discipline not to skid his eyes over Calum’s bare chest now that it’s exposed to the air. 

Calum shifts into a sitting position. The sheets fall further down his body and Luke looks down at his hands so he won’t stare. He’s still mostly naked, too, and he can feel Calum watching him, and his cheeks burn. Calum needs to leave. Calum needs to take his clothes and go and they need to never tell anyone about this and never talk about it again, because this could destroy the band if it turns into — if _anything_ — 

“Okay,” Calum says, cutting through Luke’s catastrophizing. “That’s okay.”

Luke snaps his eyes up. “What? It’s not okay.”

“What do you mean, it’s not okay?”

There’s a choking feeling in Luke’s throat, and he’s trying to say so many things, trying to explain himself and explain why this is a mistake, a fluke, something that can’t happen again and that should have never happened in the first place, no matter how badly he wants it, no matter how much he’s thought about it — and all he says is, “You should go.”

Calum’s face pinches like he’s been sucker punched, but then the expression slides away, and all that’s left is that easygoing look that Calum is known to wear. Luke bites down on his lip, looks once again away from Calum. He hopes Calum’s not trying to read into Luke’s face or his tone or his meaning, because he _knows_ Calum should leave but his whole heart and soul is begging for him to stay.

“Okay,” Calum repeats, clearing his throat. He gives Luke a hard look, and then slides out of bed, crouching to collect his discarded clothes and giving Luke the full view of his broad shoulders, toned back, defined muscles; Luke forces his gaze to the sunlight slipping between the curtains and pooling onto the floor. He only looks up once Calum’s footsteps lead him to the bathroom and the door closes, and then he collapses against his pillows, which turns out to be the wrong move because hadn’t he done the exact same thing last night, breathless, Calum above him, a look in his eye that was almost dangerous in its thrill — 

_Fuck_ , Luke thinks helplessly. And there’s really nothing else to it. There’s nobody to tell. Not even Ashton or Michael, and it’s not as if Luke has, like, _closer_ friends. If he can’t spill to his bandmates, there’s no one else. This one is going to sit heavy on Luke’s chest. 

Calum comes out of the bathroom fully dressed, and Luke realizes he should have also gotten dressed. Calum stares at him, then says, “Bus call’s in an hour, I think,” and then he disappears out the door and Luke watches him go.

The room feels empty now, and Luke feels lonely, and he lies on his bed for another twenty minutes before he gets a text from Ashton checking that he’s awake. And then he gets dressed and spends the following twenty minutes preparing himself to pretend like he and Calum didn’t just have mind-blowing sex last night while drunk on tequila. While spending a full day in interviews and on a tour bus with Calum.

Fuck.

They still have two shows in Japan.

Luke shakes the tension from his shoulders as they head onstage in Osaka, and they play an insane show, feeding off the madness that is the Japanese crowds. Everything is amazing. Luke has an overwhelming feeling that this tour is going to be out of control, and he doesn’t know whether that’ll be good or bad.

They don’t go out after the Osaka show like they did in Nagoya. Luke is grateful nobody suggests it. Sober Luke can control himself around Calum; evidently, drunk Luke can’t. Luke knows he should talk to Calum, to apologize for being so curt, but he can’t bring himself to. Calum isn’t exactly making it easy; he’s more or less avoiding talking to Luke, and leaves every room Luke enters when it’s just the two of them. The pit in Luke’s stomach grows every time he catches Calum’s eye only for Calum to look away. This is _exactly_ what he’d been afraid of, of somehow fucking up the band dynamic, and now it’s happened anyway, and Luke feels horribly at fault.

 _It takes two,_ he reminds himself, _and Calum wanted it too,_ but if Calum had wanted it, he makes no indication of that anymore. And it’s not as if Luke can exactly remember, anyway; he has to assume that Calum had wanted it, because Luke wouldn’t take advantage, but they’d both been so staggeringly drunk that it’s hard to know if it had been the alcohol talking or Calum himself when he’d agreed to come back to Luke’s room.

This time, after the show, they all retire to the hotel to have a quiet night in, and Luke takes advantage of the room to himself to put _The Bachelor_ on in the background, a show he knows he couldn’t pay anyone else in the band to watch with him — at least not without hearing Ashton’s loud sarcastic comments about the absurdity of it all and Michael’s incessant giggling. Only Calum is ever kind enough to indulge Luke, on the rare occasion when he gets to decide what shitty TV show they’re watching. Thinking about that almost makes Luke want to turn the fucking show off, but he lets it drone softly on, pretending to sink himself into the drama of who will get the rose this week until sleep washes over him like a talisman. 

(Black hair, in his dreams, and fingers tracing the lines of his limbs, and a grip so tight it could break him but doesn’t, and a furious clenching feeling in his chest when Luke wakes with a start, electricity ghosting across his body, nothing but a tantalizing memory.)

Tokyo’s show goes roughly the same as Osaka’s. The Japanese fans are absolutely fucking mad, and the energy that explodes out of everyone in the crowd is only amplified, it seems, by the already-overwhelming buzz onstage. By the time they’re finished with the encore, Luke is vibrating. Playing shows is a good outlet for nervous energy and lingering tension, both of which Luke possesses in abundance, but the moment he steps offstage he feels trapped inside his body again. There are a thousand feelings ricocheting around his chest and his brain, and he needs to get them out.

Also, Calum still won’t really look at him, and Luke needs that to change. 

They go out again, because that’s what young adults with rapidly-inflating rock careers do; they go out, and they drink themselves stupid, and the next day hit repeat. Luke has a drink in his hand before his whole band is even through the door of the club, and after about twenty minutes, his vision is glossed over with the comfortable haze of alcohol. Michael and Ashton are sitting at the bar, just _talking_ , because they’re boring. Luke skips over to them and slings an arm around each of them.

“Come dance,” he entreats them both. Michael shakes his head; Ashton laughs.

“Maybe later,” Ashton says.

“I want to dance,” Luke pouts, leaning into Ashton’s side.

“Ask Calum,” Michael says. “I bet he’d be up for it.”

Calum. There’s something Luke should be remembering about Calum. At the moment, the main thing he remembers is their exceptional night in Nagoya, and he wonders if Calum would be interested in a reprise.

Without another word Luke pulls away from Michael and Ashton, leaving them and their boring conversation about whatever it is they’re discussing, and goes on the prowl for Calum. He’s there, across the room, leaning sulkily against a wall and gazing out into the middle distance. Luke course corrects and makes his way over.

When Calum catches sight of Luke, he pushes himself off the wall. Luke frowns. “Don’t leave,” he says quickly, when it looks like Calum is about to. The words stall Calum briefly, but he still hovers as if he intends at any moment to take off. “You’re avoiding me,” Luke concludes. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Have I?” Calum says tightly. “Hadn’t noticed.” He shifts his weight like he’s going to walk away, and Luke grabs his arm. The memory of what he’d done the morning after rushes back, and he winces in the face of it. Even in his mind, Calum’s expression is difficult to look at.

“You’re upset,” Luke says. “I fucked up.” It feels like that, a fuck-up, what he’d said. What the hell had he been so scared of that he’d sent Calum off like that, with hardly a word of farewell? He’d been so worried about what might happen to them as a result of sleeping together that he’d fucked it all up anyway by trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. And now Calum is cross.

“You think?” says Calum bitterly.

“I fucked up,” Luke repeats. “I’m sorry.”

The stony expression across Calum’s face barely softens. He still looks mad.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I don’t care, it’s just fucking sex, Luke. It’s not a big fucking deal.”

“You’re my friend,” Luke argues, and means to explain that that’s why it matters, but the sentence kind of peters out and hangs there on its own. He shifts on his feet, chews the inside of his mouth. “Let me make it up to you. Tonight.”

Calum stares at him. “Seriously, Luke?”

“Cal,” Luke says, suddenly determined to be understood, gripping Calum’s arm tighter, fingertips flattening over his bicep, over the lines of muscle there. “Don’t you feel, like. Tense? High-strung? You’re gonna come down from a show like _that_ , what? Like it’s easy?” 

Calum swallows; Luke tracks the movement.

“You don’t want this,” Calum says. “You made that pretty clear.”

“I do,” Luke promises, desperation outlining every syllable. “I swear I do.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Luke crowds in closer, holding tightly enough to Calum’s arm that there might be a bruise, almost tempted by that thought. Calum’s breathing is shallow, and Luke steps deliberately into his space, faces close enough that a stiff breeze and they’d be kissing.

“Do I look like I’m fucking lying?” Luke says quietly, barely a breath.

Calum exhales. It flutters over Luke’s face, warm and eerily familiar. “You could have anyone in this room. Go seduce one of them.”

The roar of _want_ in Luke’s blood is making it hard to think about anything else, difficult to think beyond Calum’s lips and the heat of his skin and the way his hands felt that night, wondering if they’ll feel the same tonight. It almost slips past him that Calum believes Luke could have his pick of the lot, that there’s anything charismatic or seductive at all about Luke, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because Luke doesn’t want anyone else in the room.

“I want you,” Luke murmurs. Then, boldly, “You want me, too, or you’d have walked away.”

He releases his grip on Calum but Calum doesn’t move, and they stand there for a moment, suspended in it, and then Calum pushes Luke until his back is against the wall where Calum had been leaning minutes prior, bracketing his body in. Luke’s nerves are all on fire; he tilts his head back against the wall, baring his throat, and Calum leans in and whispers, “It’s just sex, Luke. Means nothing to me if it’s nothing to you.”

“Whatever you want,” Luke pants. He thinks Calum could tell him anything like this and he’d agree wholeheartedly. _Just sex_ is all Luke is asking for anyway, and he’s fucking desperate, hungry to be taken apart tonight, hungry for _Calum_ , touching him the way he’d done before, with equal parts reverence and ferocity, and Luke just a submissive subject.

“Your room, then,” Calum says, and Luke groans with the knowledge that they have to _wait_ to get started. “We can get a cab.”

Maybe someone presses the fast-forward button, because the next thing Luke knows he’s being slammed against the barely-shut door of his hotel room, a delicious sting crawling up and down his skin, and Calum is kissing him so fiercely that Luke forgets how to breathe, how to stand, and knows that if his heart didn’t beat automatically he’d be dead from forgetting to do that, too. 

The night blurs together; Luke gets flashes of skin, Calum’s teeth leaving marks across Luke’s torso and collarbone, his name like a melody on Calum’s tongue, intoning _Luke, Jesus fucking Christ, Luke_ into Luke’s hair, heart pounding furiously around his ribcage as if trying to make a break for it. Someone bangs angrily on the wall from the room next door at one point, and they both laugh, broken momentarily from the reverie and reminded of the real world; but then Calum closes his mouth over Luke’s and Luke slips easily back into it, eyes closed, losing himself in Calum, cracking the top off the pressure cooker in his chest and melting the tension trapped under his skin.

Consciousness returns in fragments, still hazy from the alcohol chasing its way out of Luke’s system. The hotel room runs cold, but Luke and Calum are sprawled across the mattress, exhausted, sated, Luke flushed and almost feverish with his and Calum’s combined body heat. Calum’s breathing has slowed, and his eyes are drooping shut, slumped face-down over Luke with his face buried in Luke’s neck. Luke feels an overwhelming urge to kiss his forehead, and feels ridiculous for not doing it, because he can still taste the salt from Calum’s skin under his tongue, for fuck’s sake, but giving him a gentle kiss on his forehead feels different, and it’s just sex. That’s what Calum had said. _Means nothing to me if it’s nothing to you,_ he’d said, and it’s nothing to Luke. It has to be nothing. That’s the agreement.

He’s tempted to say something, weighed too heavily down by the silence in the room, the glare of the strip lights around the walls of this hotel, too. But there’s nothing Luke could possibly say that wouldn’t ruin this; even _goodnight_ feels out of place. So he breathes out, exhaling the last of the strain from his chest, and shifts Calum closer to him. They fall asleep like that, exceedingly warm, deceptively well-matched, puzzle pieces stolen from different puzzles.

Luke jolts awake to the sound of Michael banging on his door, shouting, “Is Calum with you? He didn’t answer when I banged on his door!”

The interrogation isn’t doing anything for the throbbing headache behind Luke’s eyes. He glances down and sees Calum’s eyes fluttering, half-asleep. They’ve woken in almost the same position they’d fallen asleep, Luke’s face buried in Calum’s hair, Calum’s nose against Luke’s neck. The sheets are pulled taut and tangled between their legs but they end halfway up Luke’s chest and Calum’s back. Everywhere they’re not touching feels freezing cold in the exposed air; where they are touching, it’s almost uncomfortably warm. Luke wants to burrow into Calum’s front and pretend he’s still asleep, but Michael is making that very difficult.

“I’m going to kill him,” Calum slurs, groggy. Luke chews on his bottom lip, closing his eyes against the sunlight sneaking between the drapes. The rays fall across Calum’s hair; if Luke looks too long he won’t be able to look away, so it’s probably for the best that the light is hurting his head.

He gropes blindly for his phone on the side table and, eyes open a crack, sends off a poorly-spelled text to Michael. _calums here go tf away._

The pounding at the door ceases for a moment. Then Michael calls, “Bus call at ten!” Irregular footsteps, like someone skipping, tread down the hall until they’re inaudible. Luke sighs and tosses his phone aside.

Calum rolls onto his back and the chill of the room immediately descends upon Luke, everywhere Calum had been attached. “Getting up,” Calum announces half-heartedly. “Leaving now.”

Luke breathes out for a long, long moment, trying to get a grip on the morning, on last night. Assessing the situation.

He and Calum definitely — he remembers that. More than once. _It’s just sex, Luke,_ he remembers. _Means nothing to me if it’s nothing to you._ The words echo like a yell in a cavern around his mind.

Well. That’s fine, because it’s nothing to Luke. And as long as they don’t make it a problem it won’t be a problem. 

Calum swings his legs over the edge of the bed as if with great effort, and Luke watches, admires shamelessly, this time, the way the muscles in his back contract and expand, give way to shoulders that are broad enough to be almost criminal. It’s tempting to reach out and skid his fingers down the smooth skin, but something curbs the impulse. Whether that something is just sleepiness or the hangover or decent instinct, Luke is grateful. He doesn’t think he should be the one to call any shots here. Last time he’d tried that, he’d royally fucked up.

Instead, Luke stretches out in bed, grappling for the sheets to pull them over him. Without Calum’s higher-than-average body heat he’s ridiculously cold, and though the sheet is flimsy it traps warmth around Luke’s skin. He wishes he were wearing a shirt, at least. Calum collects his clothes, turns, sees Luke watching him, and looks down at his feet.

“I need to know we’re on the same page,” he says to the ground. Luke shifts onto his side.

“We are,” he says. “I’m fine, see? Not kicking you out.”

Calum scuffs at the floor. “Right. Just so we both know —”

“Nothing to me if it’s nothing to you,” Luke recites dutifully. “I know, Calum.”

Calum sighs, and it’s hard to tell if it’s a sigh of relief or disappointment, although Luke can’t really see why Calum would be disappointed that Luke remembers exactly what rules were set in place.

“Great,” Calum mutters. He makes several aborted movements that resolve themselves into walking towards the bathroom. Luke flips over and lets the darkness of the pillow eat away at the light behind his eyelids until he hears Calum come out.

“Uh — I’m going,” Calum says.

“Okay,” Luke tries to reply, but it’s probably too muffled by the pillow to sound much like anything at all. He tips his head to the side. “Okay,” he repeats.

Calum stares at him, shakes his head, and leaves. Luke finds himself with the unnerving feeling that, despite doing everything he could to be as chill as possible, something is still fucked up.

  
  


Luke is acting as normal as he knows how to act, and Calum still won’t meet his gaze. It’s becoming frustrating. Luke wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, say _I did what you asked, so what’s with the cold shoulder?_ He might, too, if he could get Calum alone for long enough, but Calum seems hell-bent on not spending time one-on-one with Luke. It hurts for a few reasons, chief among them that Luke really enjoys Calum’s company — or he used to. Lately there’s a Calum-shaped gap in Luke’s days, and he hasn’t really got anything with which to fill it. 

They make it through a few more shows. Luke loses track. He drinks enough to blur the memories of the shows into one long string, only remembers the names of the cities when he needs to shout them out to the crowds, bellowing _make some noise! Get those hands in the air!_

Sometimes Luke thinks he’s just an actor playing a part, but he’s never sure which version of himself is the fake: the manic frontman who takes command of the stage, or the shoddily crafted man-child behind the scenes, writing bad, bad songs that they’ll never play. He feels full of himself when they perform, although less so recently, now that Calum is making a concerted effort to calculate every glance towards Luke. Luke misses when stage left felt warm and welcoming. Now he gravitates towards Michael.

If Michael notices anything wrong, he doesn’t say. 

All the while, Luke dreams in flashes — _skin teeth tattooed hands heavy breathing luke luke luke luke —_ and wakes up alone, more often than not sweating, too small for the big beds of their hotel rooms. The pangs of loneliness grow, and the burden of secrecy feels heavier by the day. Of all the kinds of loneliness, this one, Luke thinks, must be the worst; the kind that leaves you craving someone in particular, knowing they won’t come. 

He rehearses until his fingers and throat hurt. He gets himself off to memories he’s increasingly convinced he shouldn’t have, but whatever, he _does_ have them, and there’s no taking it back, whatever Calum may seem to want. He gives big, broad smiles to Michael and Ashton and every camera in his face, and when anyone is watching he gives big, broad smiles to Calum, too, but they’re all stiff and contrived. He eats when he’s supposed to and drinks when he’s not, and he falls asleep every night, condemning himself to dreams where he and Calum are back in the room with the neon strip lights, but this time when Calum says _that’s okay_ Luke says _I know, I know it is,_ and they make out in shades of rich blues and purples until Luke opens his eyes, hugging his extra pillow, _wishing_.

(Wishing, Luke’s mum used to say, was a fool’s errand, but Luke was never good at learning from the mistakes of others, much less his own.)

  
  


"Can I ask you something?"

Ashton looks up from his book. Something about Buddhism, Luke has to assume.

"Of course," Ashton says. "Always. What about?"

"Um," Luke says, unsure how exactly to approach the subject. It's just that it's building up in his chest, all sharp edges and nerves, and it won't be long before he bowls over from the weight. "I need your advice about something."

Ashton waits patiently, doesn't even say _alright, go on,_ just gives Luke his full attention. Luke's really tempted to just say _forget it, never mind._ Or make up a crisis. Anything.

"I slept with someone I shouldn't have," he admits, pink-cheeked just thinking about it. Ashton either isn't surprised or does a good job hiding it; Luke thinks maybe he should be offended by that. "And I'm not sure what to do now."

"What do you mean, you shouldn't have? Someone bad?"

"No!" Who would that even _be?_ "No, no, no one bad, of course not. Just, like. Um. A friend."

Ashton tilts his head. "A friend?"

"Yeah. But — beforehand, right, they were like, _this means nothing_. ‘Cause we’re just friends. It’s just sex, you know? Which it was, but then…it’s weird now anyway, and I’m not sure why, like, what I did wrong. I don't want it to be weird."

"Well," Ashton says slowly, "do you want it to be more than friends?"

 _No,_ Luke starts to say, sure as anything, but the word sticks in his throat. "I, uh," he mutters. "Never really thought about it." And he hasn't. He _hasn't._ He's thought about doing truly sinful things with Calum, thought in great detail about that; he's a man with eyes and he'd have to be absolutely idiotic not to find Calum unspeakably attractive. Of course he'd want to, like…but more than friends? Luke doesn't really do that. He's no good at _more._ And it wouldn't work with Calum, anyway.

"You look like you're thinking about it," Ashton says. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Luke says, which is the truth. "I don't — no. I don't want it to be." Which feels like a lie.

Ashton purses his lips, looking like he doesn't really believe Luke. "You should probably communicate that to your friend, then. Maybe they’re worried you took it for more than they did. You can't make it worse, right? If it's already awkward."

That’s true. “Mhm,” Luke says, although the idea of approaching Calum and _talking_ about it — _hey, remember when we fucked twice and now you won’t look me in the eye? What’s that about? —_ is terrifying to him. That feels like making it into a big deal. It goes against the whole _point_ of it meaning nothing, which is that they aren’t supposed to talk about it, just sidle around it like the world’s biggest elephant filling every room, because _it’s just sex, Luke,_ not a big deal, they’ve both done it a hundred times.

Just not with each other.

(And Luke can’t fucking stop thinking about it.)

“Yeah?” Ashton says, raising an eyebrow. 

Luke blinks back to earth. “Yeah,” he says with a confidence he doesn’t feel. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to them. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Ashton says. Luke knows he means it. He feels awash with gratitude. Ashton, at least, is simple: bring him a problem and he’ll tackle it until it’s solved. 

In order to do Ashton right, though, Luke has to find Calum, _and_ get him to stand still long enough to hold a conversation. About the one topic that Luke is almost certain is taboo. Awesome.

“Calum is outside, by the way,” Ashton says off-handedly, returning already to his book. 

Luke does a double-take. “What — um — okay? Good for him?” 

Ashton is almost smirking. “Just in case you’re looking for him, for whatever reason.”

Luke runs a hand raggedly through his hair. Of course Ashton would know. “Okay,” he says, defeated. “Don’t — um — don’t tell him we had this conversation. Please.”

Ashton waves him off. “Yeah. Duh. Please, just go. It’s weird that you guys aren’t talking.”

Dutifully, Luke retreats until he’s off the bus, and goes in search of Calum.

  
  


Outside, Calum is smoking, loitering (for lack of a better word) by the brick wall of the building they’re parked next to. Luke wonders if he shouldn’t bother, but Calum must see him in his periphery because he turns his head and meets Luke’s eyes.

“Hey,” he says, just that, just _hey_. Just a normal greeting. Like this isn’t the first time they’ll have been alone in days, almost weeks.

“Hey,” Luke says back. “Mind if I…”

Calum glances around himself. Quirks his lips. “I thought you hated the smell.”

 _I do,_ Luke wants to say, _or I_ did _before it started to grow on me and I realized I could never hate a smell that reminded me of you._ He wants to say, _you know, I almost lit a cigarette the other day because I’d forgotten how it felt to be around you. Are you feeling the same way?_ All of this lingers at the tip of his tongue, but what he says is, “I don’t mind. If you don’t.”

Calum gestures, like _by all means,_ which strikes Luke as vaguely impersonal. He approaches, leans his back against the wall next to Calum’s. For a moment, they’re quiet. 

If Luke were ever to take up smoking, it would only be for the built-in solitude that comes with taking a smoke break. He can see why this is appealing to Calum, to steal away for a few minutes and be alone; Calum likes to think, likes to get stuck in his own head. Luke thinks his mind is more like a torture chamber. Best to spend as little time as possible occupying any space in there.

Eventually, Calum turns to Luke. “You want one?” Luke shakes his head. “Yeah, I figured. Just thought I’d offer in case you were waiting for me to.”

Luke gives a short, stilted laugh, shifting his weight. “This is awkward,” he finally declares, because fuck it. It _is_ awkward; saying it might not make it less so, but at least once they acknowledge it they can go from there.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Why?”

Why, indeed. Maybe because Luke’s always had some trouble looking someone in the eyes once they’ve seen him as vulnerable as Calum has, reduced him to pleading or screaming or a vice-like grip. It feels like Calum knows how to knock Luke down, now, how to pull the rug out from under him in a way that promises Luke will go willingly. Luke would fall at Calum’s request. He thinks he probably will.

Luke has seen Calum vulnerable, too, of course, but that’s different, because Luke would never — he’d _never_ do that to Calum, never spill, never tell a soul — and — and it’s not that he thinks Calum _will,_ or even that he _would_ , but…

But he could. He _could_ , and Luke can never be totally certain that he won’t.

“We might,” Luke says, “possibly, have some things currently going unaddressed between us.”

“We might,” Calum agrees; he wrinkles his nose and takes another drag. Luke tries not to watch the way those pink, pink lips close around the end of the cigarette, the way his eyes flutter shut when he inhales, long eyelashes sweeping above cutting cheekbones, the way his back arches just so like he’s trying to expand his lungs, take in as much smoke as possible. 

He fails. Obviously. With Calum, Luke has a history of being bad at looking away.

Calum breathes out, exhaling the smoke into the air, and Luke wonders how he became the kind of person who romanticized smoking, even though he knows the answer is standing just before him, slumped against the brick.

“Okay,” Luke says, determined to get through a conversation about it if it kills them both. “Let’s start easy, shall we? We had sex.”

“Yes we did,” Calum says. “You freaked out.”

Luke winces. “Okay, yes. The first time.”

“And then we had sex again,” Calum continues tonelessly. 

“Means nothing to me if it’s nothing to you,” Luke parrots, probably revealing that those words are superglued to his mind; he can hardly close his eyes without hearing Calum hiss it like a threat next to his ear. Every passing day they sound more and more like the creaking of a trapdoor slowly falling shut, but Luke can’t figure out why. It _shouldn’t_ mean anything, to either of them. It’s just sex, _just sex, Luke,_ and Luke has had sex with plenty of people and he’s never gotten this hung up on that preexisting condition before.

“Yeah,” Calum says, curt, almost frustrated. “Good thing I cleared that up, isn’t it? Wouldn’t want to worry you about feelings, or whatever.”

Luke frowns. “Feelings?”

Calum shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No, tell me,” Luke says irritably. He leans away from the wall, turns to face Calum. “This is the whole problem. We’re not talking. You’re not telling me something, and you’re avoiding me anyway. So either tell me what the problem is, or get the fuck over yourself.”

Calum glares at him. “You just came here to make me look childish? Grow the fuck up, Luke.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Luke returns, feeling frustrated with how deliberately opaque Calum is being. “I did what you said. It meant nothing. Those were _your_ words. I acted like it meant nothing, because that’s what you said you wanted. So what, Calum? What the fuck is wrong? What did I do?” A hint of beseeching creeps into his tone, and Luke finds himself, again, despite his resolve, begging. Something about Calum sends Luke to his knees, in every single way, and Luke feels weak for it, and even worse, he doesn’t care. He’d be weak for Calum. He already is.

Calum lifts the cigarette to his lips again, and Luke swallows, casting his eyes downward to the weathered sneakers gluing Calum’s feet to the pavement. It’s barely a silhouette at this hour, so Luke looks back up, only to see Calum watching him carefully through a cloud of grey.

“You pushed me away, the first time,” Calum says. “ _You_ kicked me out.”

“I apologized,” Luke says desperately. “I know I overreacted. I was worried that the band — I thought it would get fucked up, but then it got fucked up anyway. And I didn’t like that you weren’t talking to me. I don’t like it now, either.”

“The band?” Calum repeats. “You were worried about the band?”

“Of course I was.”

Calum stares at him. “Then why did you act so normal the second time?”

“You asked me to,” Luke says helplessly. “I realized it was just me making it weird, and you said it meant nothing, and I trusted you.”

“Because it _did_ mean nothing,” Caum says, only he says it like it’s a question, like he hadn’t been the one to introduce that thought.

Luke thinks about the ache in his chest when Calum had been avoiding him, about how in every room he’s ever been in, his eyes search for Calum; thinks about Ashton asking _do you want it to be more than friends?_ and Luke hesitating, wondering if it ever could be, knowing it couldn’t; about wanting to kiss Calum not for the fire of it but for the knowledge that Calum wants to kiss him too, right now, not for sex but for love.

“If that’s what you want, that’s okay with me,” he says, swallowing past the sharp edges of his next words, “but it didn’t mean nothing. Not to me.”

Calum stares at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Luke says, flushing red. “I get it. It’s just sex. It was just sex to you.”

“It wasn’t just sex to me,” Calum interrupts, lifting his shoulders away from the wall until he’s standing up straight, and it occurs to Luke how little space is between them. “I said that for _you_ , you asshole. Nothing to me if it’s nothing to you, yeah, but if it _is_ something to you —”

“Then why the fuck are you avoiding me?”

“I don’t want to be fuckbuddies with a guy I’m in love with,” Calum says flatly.

Luke reels, and without really realizing he crumples Calum’s t-shirt in his fist, licks his lips. “That’s — that’s —” _A guy I’m in love with, in love with, in love with, in love with._ He kisses Calum. It’s the only thing that makes sense to do.

Calum starts a gasp that never reaches its end, sealed off by Luke’s mouth as it meets Calum’s. The taste of cigarette smoke is so powerful that Luke almost chokes, but it also tastes of Calum, and it helps that Calum immediately responds, tilting his head into it with such practiced ease that it almost feels familiar, more than it should from two nights; as if they’re supposed to kiss each other, as if this is catching up on an outstanding debt from years unpaid. The rhythm in Luke’s chest masquerading as a heartbeat is now far too fast to maintain the ruse; Luke drums his free hand thoughtlessly against Calum’s sternum and Calum clutches it with two fingers. _The cigarette,_ Luke remembers for a second. Calum’s tongue skirts over Luke’s bottom lip and that line of thinking vaporizes into nothing.

They’ve been here before, have done this before, and yet there’s something so new in the way Calum kisses Luke now, almost as if afraid to stop. Luke moves, and Calum moves with him. The hand not pressing Luke’s palm against Calum’s chest trails up into Luke’s hair, fingers tangling in it, finding purchase and holding Luke firmly in place. _In love with,_ Luke thinks helplessly, _in love with, in love with, in love with._ He tries to say something but what comes out is a quiet moan.

This is kissing for love, not sex, and Luke realizes he is abruptly and thoroughly terrified.

“Calum, Calum,” he heaves, breaking the kiss and inhaling like that’ll ease the tightness suddenly gripping his ribs. “Don’t be in love with me.”

Calum’s breath comes unsteady. He drops the cigarette between their feet and grinds it out, and Luke can’t find the air to tell him to pick it up. “What?”

“Don’t,” Luke repeats, finding himself unable to say anything else. “Don’t love me, don’t.”

“I didn’t fucking choose to,” Calum says. “What’s happening? Are you — hey,” as Luke takes a shuddering inhale that somehow gets no oxygen, “hey, can you breathe? What’s going on?”

“I need,” Luke chokes out, and stumbles forward, where Calum catches him gently in his arms and slowly eases Luke’s head onto his shoulder. “Fuck, I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Calum says calmly. The hand that had been threaded through Luke’s hair now strokes gently at its ends, and Calum presses a kiss to Luke’s shoulder where it slopes into his neck. Luke screws his eyes shut, trying to carry some of his own weight; Calum keeps their hands clasped against his chest, too warm between their bodies. Luke is weak, weak, weak, and Calum loves him, _a guy I’m in love with,_ and Luke doesn’t deserve it, but mostly he knows he’ll break it if it’s given to him. He’ll break it. He’ll break it and hurt Calum, and that’s — he can’t. That really _will_ ruin the band, and more importantly it will ruin Calum, because Luke’s been in love before, and he’s been broken about it before, and look at where that got him.

“I’m going to fuck up again,” Luke mutters. It’s easier to say it to the fabric of Calum’s shirt. “I’m going to fuck up again. You can’t love me. I’m so — I don’t even know how I feel. I just need you —” He intends to finish the sentence with something but nothing feels exactly right, nothing more right than _I just need you_ by itself. 

“Fuck’s sake, Luke,” Calum says, and though it doesn’t sound cruel, Luke feels the words like a strike to the throat. “Just because I love you doesn’t fucking mean you have to love me back. You don’t owe me. All I said is I don’t want to sleep with you if it’s just going to be that. We can do nothing. I can do that. That’s okay.”

Luke’s trying not to drown in all the things he wants to say, because saying _of course I love you_ feels wrong, but saying _I don’t love you_ feels wrong, too, almost worse, and he thinks that whatever he says will be the wrong thing. _It’s not just that,_ he thinks, _but it’s not what you want, it’s somewhere in the middle, but is it all or nothing, with this? If I don’t have you, will I lose you?_

“I feel something,” he whispers, like it’s some big secret. “Not nothing. But not — not that.”

Calum sighs. “That’s okay,” he says. “You can feel however you feel.”

Luke sways, uncertain, studying Calum’s face. “I won’t kiss you if you tell me not to,” he says quietly. Calum swallows. “But if you don’t tell me not to, I will.”

“Don’t,” Calum says, so Luke doesn’t. Calum shakes his head. “Don’t ask me that, Luke. Of course I want to kiss you. That’s not fair.”

Luke wants to shout, _if I want to kiss you and you want to kiss me then where’s the fucking problem?_ but he knows it’s more complicated than that. So he steps backwards, though every centimetre of his body is longing to stay, and Calum breathes out, like it’s hurting him, too.

“It’s fine,” Calum says. “We can go back to normal. I was avoiding you and that wasn’t — that was a bad way to deal with it. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Luke says automatically, even though it hasn’t been. This is all he’s wanted since that night in Tokyo, for them to just go back to _normal,_ but now that Calum is offering it, it doesn’t feel like enough. But it’s not really up to Luke, is it? “I won’t — I won’t ask you, um, again,” he adds quietly. “But I just want to say — you can ask me. For sex. If you want. I know you won’t, but if you do. I’ll say yes.”

“I’m not going to use you like that.”

“You can.”

“Please value yourself more,” Calum says gently. “I won’t do that to you. It’s not fair for either of us.”

Luke shrugs, unsure of how to explain that he wants it — that if this is what he gets from Calum, sex they pretend hasn’t happened and a friendship punctuated by awkward silences, he’ll take it. It’s not love — not yet — so much as desperation, but Luke is so empty, and so lonely, and Calum fills him up better than oxygen. So what if it hurts more afterwards, as long as it patches over the wound in the interim? Nothing’s going to fix Luke, and all he can do is bandage himself up again and again, and if Calum wants to be the stitches, Luke wants that, too.

It could be love, and it would be if Luke had the capacity for it, but as it is he doesn’t even love himself, and one person is hard enough, much less two. 

“I’m gonna go back to the bus,” he murmurs. “Thanks for — I don’t know.”

Calum’s shoulders slump, and he stares at the ground like wishing he hadn’t stomped out the cigarette. Luke wonders if he’d breathe easier filling his lungs with smoke; surely even that must be better than filling them with nothing at all.

It feels like one of them should apologize, but neither of them do. After a long moment, Luke turns and goes, leaving Calum and his thoughts and his death trap coping mechanisms by themselves in the dark.

  
  


Somewhere at midnight in a hotel in England, somebody knocks on Luke’s door. It’s a barely-there tap like the guest in question had changed their mind the moment their knuckles had connected with wood. Luke can’t imagine who would be at his door in a hotel in England at midnight, unless it’s Louis Tomlinson here to be the world’s most inconveniently-timed surprise.

When the door swings open, it’s not Louis.

“I’m sorry,” Calum says before Luke can even open his mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not asking, I just want —”

“You can come in,” Luke says, stepping aside. Calum lingers at the threshold for a second and then steps past Luke, into the room. The door swings closed with a click.

They’ve been normal, lately, or at least more normal than before they spoke. Luke feels pretty good about where they are, actually; the cavernous emptiness left in Luke’s insides by Calum’s abandonment is slowly being siphoned away. But now Calum is here, and it’s midnight, and Luke feels thrown for a loop.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Calum says breathlessly, wringing his hands, “and I’m _not_ , because I don’t like how you said it, like I could just — decide to — you’re a person who thinks and feels, Luke. You can’t just give a blanket allowance. So I’m not asking.”

Luke stares at him. “But?”

Calum shakes his head like even he doesn’t want to hear what he’s going to say next. “But if you ask,” he whispers, “I won’t say no.”

Luke starts. “No way,” he says stonily. “Either you want to or you don’t. I don’t want to play this game any more than you do, Calum.”

Calum scrubs a hand over his face, looking fairly distraught. His t-shirt rides up, and Luke’s eyes snag on the strip of exposed skin. “It’s not that easy,” he says. “I — I want so much from you, and you can’t give me everything I want, but you can give me something, but I won’t just take it. You have autonomy. You can say no. I need you to understand that you can say no.”

“I know that,” Luke says, crossing to Calum in one stride. “Seriously, Calum, I’m yours. I just want you. I don’t care about the rest.”

“I’m sorry,” Calum says, and hauls Luke into a kiss that shatters the fragile framework around which they’ve constructed their relationship the past few days. It’s every bit as good as the last one, but infinitely hungrier, full of promise though maybe not good ones; slick tongues and Calum’s teeth catching on Luke’s bottom lip as he moves to Luke’s neck, grazing a pressure point. Luke gasps and tilts his head the other way.

Fingers twisting a death grip in the back of Calum’s shirt, Luke pants, “What changed your mind?” And then, “ _Jesus_ , fuck, Calum.”

Calum pulls away and Luke instantly regrets speaking, because what Calum was doing was far too good to interrupt with conversation. He’s not sure why he said anything.

“Really?” Calum breathes, clutching the fabric of Luke’s shirtfront. “You’re asking me something right now?”

Luke swallows. “I — yeah.”

“Just wanted,” Calum says hoarsely, “I mean — just needed this. But I only wanted you. I only want you.”

The ticking time-bomb in Luke’s chest reaches its final lap, chasing itself into double-time. “Okay,” he says, and pulls Calum in closer, trying to say _okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m only yours, I’m lost and I’m confused but I’m no one else’s_ , but instead he kisses Calum, hoping that’s enough to get the message across. Calum makes a noise in the back of his throat, a rolling growl, and Luke gets _that_ message loud and clear. 

He lets go, relinquishes the little control he might have gathered, lets Calum steer, closes his eyes for a moment to savor it, because it could be the last time — it could always be the last time, so Luke picks the best parts, the feelings to save for future consideration: Calum’s wandering hands leaving flames licking across Luke’s bare chest, tongue teasing the inside of Luke’s mouth, lips framing ruthless bruises along his hips, the gratifying sting of Calum’s hands tight in Luke’s hair, hurting just enough to feel good.

Above all, though, he commits the words to memory, Calum’s voice buzzing against Luke’s skin, sometimes hissing _Luke_ like a curse, other times breathing it like a prayer, but most of all, whispering _I love you,_ a promise pressed against Luke’s jaw. _I fucking love you,_ murmured against his neck, _even if you don’t love me, this is enough. Whatever you have to give is enough._

It’s for the best that Luke is speechless when Calum says it, because given half a chance he knows he’d have said it back, and it would have been a lie — so close to the truth, but not quite, because Luke doesn’t love Calum yet so much as need him, but those aren’t really the same. 

All Luke can do is press a hand to Calum’s heart, racing under his palm, when they’re catching their breath at last. 

“I will,” he mumbles, tucking himself into Calum’s side. They’re both on the brink of falling asleep, Calum’s arm snugly around Luke, and it feels safe and dangerous at the same time, both scary and secure. Calum hums a note of sleepy confusion, and Luke nestles himself tighter against Calum. “Love you, I mean. I will. I can tell.” _Just need to do it to myself, first._

“Don’t do me any favors,” Calum slurs.

It’s not a favor to Calum, though. It’s a favor to Luke, to fall in love again despite knowing how it often ends. He should be so lucky. But if he’s going to fall for anyone, it’s going to be Calum.

“Just don’t give up,” he says softly. “Please?”

Calum huffs. “I won’t.”

“Good,” hums Luke, and closes his eyes, drinking in Calum’s warmth. “Neither will I.” 

**Author's Note:**

> takes very long deep breath hope you still love me almost too embarrassed to reveal my tumblr but actually no i'm not because i don't really have shame anymore at this point so you can come chat [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) and thats all outta me thanks for sitting through this uhhh okay yeah bye now


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